


Still Here

by HermaeusMora



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Implied intent of fluff, Pining, Vague spoilers through episode 126, canon-typical sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaeusMora/pseuds/HermaeusMora
Summary: Martin watches Jon and has emotions. He knows he shouldn't be doing either, but, well.





	Still Here

**Author's Note:**

> Season 4 has me feeling a whole lot of things, and episode 126 has me feeling even more. So I decided to cope by writing a short little fic of Martin feeling things too. Warning for long rambling writing style, too many unnecessary words, and possible wonky formatting. Apologies if so, for the latter! First time posting here.

Jon was different when he got back. Different in so many little ways but so familiar and so _Jon_ that it stole the breath from Martin's lungs and made his heart ache.  
  
His heart that he had worked so hard to wall off and forget about. Anything to not feel anymore; both so he could do what he needed to do and because frankly he had felt enough for several lifetimes, these past few months, and Martin Blackwood was just sick of feeling.  
He had thought he was doing well. That maybe this whole Lonely business wasn't so bad. What more did he have to lose, after all? Besides himself, of course, and well. If that was the only cost of making sure he didn't watch anyone else die, to stop feeling so helpless in the face of it all, then it was well worth it. So Martin did as he was told. He shut himself and his heart and his feelings away and focused on the tasks at hand and he worked himself to exhaustion so that he'd fall asleep as quickly as possible every night. Because the less time he had to lie idly awake, the easier it was to keep his thoughts and his pesky heart from wandering to-  
  
He was doing well. And then Jonathan Sims came back from the dead - because of course he did - and now he was in the archives living and breathing and god, _god_ , wanting to talk to Martin, _needing_ him, and it's everything Martin ever wanted right when he isn't allowed to want anything and he's wavering. He's definitely wavering.  
  
The first time he let himself cry in months was when he got back to his desk after his first encounter with Jon since the man's return; Jon's hurt, confused expression and faltering "It was good to see you" tearing muffled sobs from Martin's throat. _It was good to see you, too. I'm so sorry._  
  


* * *

  
It doesn't get easier, necessarily, but after the initial shock, Martin gets better at managing it. As much of an agony it is having Jon there, near him, within his reach but for his self-imposed isolation, Martin has to admit that it feels better having him there where he can check in on him now and then. Where he knows that he's safe.  
He really shouldn't be. Checking in on him, that is. He knows Peter wouldn't approve, and he knows he'd be right not to. Not with what Martin has to do. What it requires of him. But so long as he's keeping himself hidden and not actually interacting, he decides it has to be a good enough compromise.  
  
Martin is sitting a ways down the table in the canteen, glancing surreptitiously at Jon out of the corner of his eye. Jon doesn't know he's there - no one knows he's there - but he wants to keep it that way and he worries that paying too much attention might... ping Jon's Beholding Senses, or... or something. It's nice though. Sitting here quietly, just being near him. Having evidence that Jon is at least eating. Jon grumbles softly under his breath about something or other; Martin isn't close enough to hear. But the familiar irritable tone and the way his face tenses in brief annoyance makes something in Martin's chest clench. He quickly squashes down the feeling and forces himself to finish his lunch and leave, throwing himself aggressively back into his work. He stays extra late that night, making sure he barely makes it to his bed before collapsing into sleep.  
  


* * *

  
Jon is hunched over his desk, getting ready to record. Martin sees him wince in pain - he'd gathered enough of what had happened from overhearing Basira and Melanie talking and Christ, Jon. You've only just been out of a coma for how long? - and he has to dig his nails into his palm to restrain himself from hurrying over to fuss over him. He succeeds, and stays there for a few more minutes watching Jon, listening to his voice, studying his face. Taking it all in. Then he gets that familiar breathless ache in his chest and tears himself away. This is stupid. Dangerous. And probably more than a little creepy.  
  


* * *

  
 _...Definitely more than a little creepy_ , Martin thinks a few nights later as he hovers in the doorway like a ghost, watching Jon sleep. He has fallen asleep at his desk again, slumped over it in a way that couldn't be comfortable, head pillowed in the crook of his arm. Martin's hands itch to brush the stray hair from Jon's face, to gently shake him awake and help him into a proper bed, to at least go grab a blanket to drape over his shoulders. He notices the tape recorder near Jon's head, the red light glowing faintly as the little device records nothing but the sound of Jon's breathing. The soft whirring sound it makes reminds Martin of a cat purring, curled up contentedly next to its master. He grimaces at himself for the thought. _I really need to get out more_.  
Jon's brow furrows slightly in his sleep, and Martin's breath catches in his throat when he hears Jon murmur his name. "Martin..." Soft, slurred with sleep, but unmistakable. For a moment he panics, certain that he's been caught, that he'll have to explain, that he'll be forced into another painful non-conversation and hurt Jon and break his own heart all over again- but no. Jon's face relaxes and he continues sleeping quietly. It's all too much, though. Martin can't even swallow past the lump in his throat and he feels so fond and alone and regretful and angry and he just feels-  
  
He takes a shaky breath and crosses the room and reaches out, almost without thinking, almost touching, withdrawing his hand at the last second. An uncertain glance at the tape recorder and then back to the sleeping man in front of him. "I'm here, Jon," he whispers, barely a breath of a sound. A little louder, a little sad and maybe a touch defiant and not entirely directed at Jon this time, "I'm still here."


End file.
